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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684368">The First Color I Saw Was Your Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Languid_Victorian_Poetess/pseuds/Languid_Victorian_Poetess'>Languid_Victorian_Poetess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>How To Fall In Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Car Accidents, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Hospitals, M/M, Meet-Cute, Romantic Soulmates, don't worry i'm sure to come up with something angsty eventually</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:34:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Languid_Victorian_Poetess/pseuds/Languid_Victorian_Poetess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding one's soulmate is an interesting and daunting task. Morrison has all but given up hope when a freak accident changes everything.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>How To Fall In Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Black and White</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first ever series! I actually got the idea randomly last night and it wouldn't leave, so this is what came out of it.</p><p>For their soulmate au, Morrison and Nasir see the world in black and white until they meet. I'll be honest, I'm not 100% sure where this is going, so there might be updates to warnings and stuff later, I really have no clue what I'm doing with this one, only that it won't leave my head.</p><p>I hope you enjoy this fic!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stupid Instagram and their stupid targetted ads. They were mocking him. It’s like his phone knew he’d uninstalled that ridiculous “find your soulmate” dating app last week </span>
  <b>
    <em>( </em>
  </b>
  <span>Mated? Or maybe that was three apps ago </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
  <span>. They didn’t work for people like him, cursed to see the world in black and white until he’d met his soulmate. If only he’d gotten lucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frustrated, he shoved his phone back in his pocket. A car roared by, the radio blaring an advertisement for that TV show, Love vs Nature. More lucky bastards, they had arrows on their wrists to point to their soulmates. </span>
  <b>
    <em>(</em>
  </b>
  <span> The reruns would be on at 3am and he’d watch anyway, it was better than those phony Help Us Find Your Soulmate shows </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, okay, he was griping, but for God’s sake, he was thirty and there hadn’t been a speck of color in his life. He was sick of having a tailor who promised him he was wearing orange and that pink looked nice with his dark hair. </span>
  <b>
    <em>(</em>
  </b>
  <span> His tailor had gotten lucky, he’d been 24 when he’d met his soulmate aka his lifelong business partner. Their chests had glowed. Morrison hated that damn story. </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
  <span> He was sick of the dating apps, promising to help him, but they were really good for people with initials or names tattooed to their wrists. He was sick of the booming Find Your Soulmate businesses who hadn’t been able to help him. He was sick of trying and dating and getting nowhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It had been fun at 20</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, as the light changed colors </span>
  <b>
    <em>(</em>
  </b>
  <span> not that he could see it </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
  <span> and he went to cross the street. He hadn’t been outed at a young age like several of the other patrons at his bar. He’d made the rounds, called it soulmate searching, and had left behind a string of broken hearts like it was a game. That and there were plenty of flings too. He’d had fun and thought he didn’t need love. But 30, or getting old rather, tended to change one perspective. He’d have grey hairs soon, if he didn’t have them already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thoughts churned through his head, made worse by the buzz of alcohol and the fact that he’d be going home alone tonight. Why had he parked across the street again? Oh, right, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>bachelorette party. He walked quickly across the poorly lit street, the Royal Ramrod’s sign casting pale white light against his back. He’d been told the sign was actually an obnoxious red. Good, he hoped to see it himself one day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that he was moping about, too lost in his own mind to see it coming. Maybe it was that the driver was going too fast and the area was poorly lit and everyone took the corner at top speed. Maybe it was luck or fate or destiny or what have you. Maybe it was because he was fucking colorblind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something struck him hard and the world went horribly black before he’d even hit the pavement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry you came all this way,” a voice was saying. Morrison kept his eyes squeezed shut. His hangover was killing him. And when had his sheets been anything but silk? “I meant to call you to cancel, but this patient came in last minute…” the voice trailed off. It was faint, like the person was outside the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t be home. That was a woman’s voice and Morrison Cox did not take home women. His eyes popped open. He blinked and his eyes settled on two figures in the doorway. He blinked again. Neither of them were in black and white. His mouth opened and hung there for several minutes as he stared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, Blythe please, it’s okay.” The most beautiful man Morrison had ever seen was saying. He laid a hand on the young woman’s arm and his smile was enchanting. The color white was suddenly his new favorite, if it came attached to this mystery man. “I can bring you takeout instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To save me from the cafeteria food? Oh, Nasir, you’re too sweet.” Nasir. His name was Nasir. Gorgeous. A ring glinted on the woman’s finger. This better not be her damn husband, that just wouldn’t be fair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man chuckled and the sound was literally the best thing he’d ever heard. “Of course, Blythe. But you’ll still owe me a raincheck on dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise. Maybe next weekend? Magnus wants to get out of a work party, we can provide him an excuse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I come? Wherever you are sounds like heaven,” Morrison said without thinking and they both turned to look at him. He made eye contact with the man and whatever color his eyes were… that was it. That was his new favorite color, the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Wow. He wished for the words to describe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Cox, you’re awake I see. I’m Dr. Ayre.” the young woman said and crossed to the end of his bed. She picked up his chart, flipped through a couple pages. Nasir lingered in the doorway, something like shock on his features. “You’re very lucky. How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be here with an angel? Yes.” Morrison replied and watched color rise in Nasir’s cheeks. “Never been better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe sighed and looked at him. “To be </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You were hit by a car. The driver’s been taken into custody. We’ll be keeping you overnight for observation, but thankfully, your injuries weren’t extensive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will be pressing charges.” Morrison said and spared Blythe a quick glance. She was medium height and pretty, even in the scrubs and white coat. “The bastard hit me with his car.” He turned back to Nasir who was still staring at him with bright cheeks and flabbergasted. Well, that was fair, he tended to have that effect on people. “Wait, where are my clothes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe jabbed her pen to a bag on the side of the room. A corner of one of the garments stuck out and the color was ostentatious. He knew his tailor was doing his job right.  “I’ll let the police know. Now, is there anyone I can call for you, Mr. Cox? Family? Friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morrison shot a broad grin at the man in the doorway. “Can I have your number?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked. Morrison missed his eyes for the brief second they were out of sight. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I have your number?” Morrison winked. “See, this lovely doctor is trying to find my emergency contact. This is an emergency and I’m looking for you to be my contact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was horrible.” Blythe huffed and put his chart down. “Well, I see you’re feeling alright. Someone from the nurse’s station will be in to check on you in a few hours. There’s a remote there, let us know if you need anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Morrison said and let his grin drop for a moment. “What color are his eyes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who? Nasir’s?” Blythe asked. Morrison nodded. “Blue, why would you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nasir took her arm and whispered something in her ear. “Push the button if you need anything, Mr. Cox.” Blythe said and let herself be dragged out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morrison leaned forward, despite the ache in his body and watched them out the window. His lip reading was fuzzy at best, but he’d caught the most important word on Nasir’s mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Soulmates</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was sure of it. Things were about to get very interesting.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Inconvenient Emergency Contact</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nasir tells Blythe something like the truth and makes a quick stop on his way out.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sooooo, I know I said this was gonna all be fluff. But something changed. I won't be taking questions at this time, but I will be changing the tags. It's still fluff tangent right now though, don't worry. We'll get to the angst soon. Please enjoy the latest installment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, you think that’s your </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Nasir, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Blythe hissed once they were outside. She’d shut the door to the handsome man’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soulmate…” Nasir said slowly. “I think he’s my soulmate.” The world was in startling color and it was so bright. He’d noticed it when their eyes had met. They weren’t black and white and he’d looked around and found that nothing was. Absently, he scratched at the thin tattoo behind his ear and tried not to think of the lettering. His wedding band was heavy in his pocket </span>
  <b>
    <em>(</em>
  </b>
  <span> an accident, leftover from arts and crafts day with the kids, his hand still hadn’t adjusted to the weight </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you hear yourself?” Blythe whispered. She stole a glance around the hallway and Nasir followed her gaze to the open curtains of the mystery man’s room. Cox. Blythe had called him Mr. Cox. The same woman now had a hard grip on his wrist and yanked him further down the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It had just kind of… slipped out. The shock of color flooding the room had done it, he was still blinking under the harsh hospital florescent lights. Blythe was merciful and pulled him into the break room and shut the door. At least it was dimmer in here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We only have a couple minutes, if you’d like to talk. I know how I sounded a moment ago and I’m sorry it’s just… Nasir, are you sure?” She laid a hand on his arm, the touch gentle and steadying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran a hand through his hair and blinked rapidly, as though that would chase away the vibrant color still bleeding into his vision. He didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>it to be true. To think that color could be such a curse. “I’m only sure that he’s supposed to be in my life.” His smile came quick and lingered. “There are so many types of soulmates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Blythe replied, but the purse of her lips indicated that she didn’t quite buy it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I always knew I had more than one,” Nasir continued. The justification sounded weak to his own ears, though it was true. Not to mention that it was hardly uncommon to have more than one soulmate symbol. Plenty of people had timers and tattoos or gained a color for each person they met that was meant to be in their life. Yes. That was it. This mystery man was meant to be in his life. Nothing more than that. </span>
  <b>
    <em>(</em>
  </b>
  <span> All he had to do was ignore the way that when their eyes had met, everything had fallen perfectly into place. </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just… be careful, alright?” Blythe said tenderly and her arm fell back to her side. “I wouldn’t want to see you or Isabel get hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was more than just well-intentioned, she was right. And it unreasonably frustrated him when it shouldn’t matter. He was married and it wasn’t to the mystery man. “Yes, of course, I’ll be careful.” Nasir tried on a smile that she must have known was forced. “Now, I believe I promised you takeout?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Blythe replied and things were almost back to normal. She shook her head lightly and straightened her coat. Her ID clicked against the buttons of her blouse, always so professional. “I’ll pick something out from the cafeteria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense!” He argued. “It’s a short drive, I’ll even bring you some boba tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too sweet.” She crossed to the door and held it open as they exited back into the hallway. The lights were still bright, but he’d had some time to adjust and they no longer felt overwhelming. “I’ll relent this time, but if we decide to rescue Magnus next week, then we get to pay for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal.” Blythe walked him to the reception desk and paused to pull something out from behind the desk. “You wouldn’t eat if I didn’t bring you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held up her hands in false surrender. “Yes, yes, you caught me. I might have hunted down something in the on-call room if I was feeling desperate.” Her smile was distracted, as though she was still weighing their conversation. Not that Nasir could blame her, it was still on his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back in no more than a half hour, assuming there’s a line,” he said and turned to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!” Blythe said and when he turned, she handed him a little chart with blobs of color and their names neatly printed below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nasir let out a chuckle. “You carry these in hospitals?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe sighed, but it was too dramatic to be real. “You’d be surprised how many soulmates meet in a hospital or end up here together. See,” she leaned in conspiratorially and dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “People go skiing or something and then they’ll suddenly be able to see in color or their compass will change directions and they’ll run right into a tree. The next thing you know, we have two more patients with concussions who are demanding to be in the same room. It’s all terribly inconvenient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that just love?” Nasir teased and accepted the card. He gave it a glance and his thumb pressed the little “blue” circle. His eyes were blue. People had always told him, but here he was, finally seeing it. Blue. Brown. Red. Yellow. And more, so much more. It was beautiful and it was all because of…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so,” Blythe said. “Maybe at first it’s inconvenient, but I believe that there’s more to love than that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, Nasir thought, she was happily married to the love of her life. “Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe opened  her mouth to answer when her pager let out a short series of beeps. “Oh, sorry, I have to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Run.” Nasir finished with a light laugh. “I’ll leave your takeout with Rebecca.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an angel,” she answered and turned to go, briefly calling back over her shoulder, “And don’t forget to text me about next weekend! Magnus and I would love to get dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do!” He watched her round the corner before making his way through the lobby. Something caught his eye and Nasir stopped in his tracks, the bright and colorful display of the gift shop calling to him. He was still clutching the little card of color in his hand. He hesitated, a few stragglers passing him by, a couple curious looks in his direction. He took a breath and entered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The colors verged on overwhelming, an inundation of stuffed brown bears with hearts and spotted flowers and vibrant balloons. He kept glancing down at the little card in his hand, working to memorize the colors. Red for the roses, pink for the hearts, purple and blue and white for the balloon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart hammered in his chest as he perused the items, a building guilt over nothing. There was nothing wrong with a get well soon gift. He paused at the stand of tacky cards, the embossed </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel better</span>
  </em>
  <span> in gold and silver looked too formal. The sleepy cat in a hospital bed was too childish. What said hi, I think you’re my soulmate but in a completely friend related way?</span>
  <b>
    <em> ( </em>
  </b>
  <span>Because that was all this was. Because he was married. </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>He stuffed his hands into his pockets and fingered the wedding band hiding away. He pressed it hard into his palm, but didn’t put it on, and that made it worse. What was he doing? This was insane, it was unnecessary, it was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There on the shelf in the pack was a spot of… yellow, said his notecard. The color was yellow. Big yellow petals and black centers with deep green stalks. There were only a few in the vase, like the rest had been sold out. Sunflowers, read the little plaque and something told him that they were perfect. He slipped on his wedding ring and scooped the flowers off the shelf and took them over to the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cashier, Pam according to her nametag, checked him out with the bored look of a long slow shift. “Did you want to add a card? It’s only an extra dollar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Nasir said and selected a plain white one from the stand. “Can I borrow a pen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pam handed him one with a chewed pen cap, just like his 3rd graders. He smiled and scrawled out a quick message. “How much to have it delivered to a room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Free.” Pam answered and rang him up, sticking the little white card among the yellow blossoms. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Emergency contact information </span>
  </em>
  <span>and his phone number stared back at him as he handed over the cash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it was over and Nasir was hurrying out to his car, thinking not of the takeout and the boba tea he had to make sure to get, but of the smile his mystery man was sure to have when he received a bouquet of sunflowers.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't know when this is getting an update again, the answer is whenever I have the weird motivation to work on it. I'll finish it eventually who knows. Also, the chapters will be short because that's how I thrive when the topic isn't angst (re: the 40 page rogue one au). Anyway, thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. How To Slide Into His DMs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Number in hand, it's time for Morrison to tackle the impossible: texting his crush.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I did promise that I was going to be very slow on this fic and I'm fulfilling that vow. I literally write this whenever the mood strikes me, I was actually supposed to be working on something for Caprice/Irie but I was feeling a little too sarcastic to write them, so here I am.</p><p>Please enjoy another ridiculous chapter for this fic! I'm glad you're all liking the cute fluff because I will be dragging angst in here eventually... after all, Nasir is a married man. I hope you don't mind that there's a lot of texting in this chapter, I hope you all think it's as amusing as I do.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Delete. Delete. Delete. It really couldn’t possibly be this hard. He’d texted loads of men before. </span>
  <b>
    <em>( </em>
  </b>
  <span>But they hadn’t been his soulmate… </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
  <span> So why in the world was this so fucking hard to do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, what about </span>
  <em>
    <span>hey there, beautiful?</span>
  </em>
  <span> No, the ‘hey’ was too casual and the rest was just too damn cliche. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I haven’t stopped thinking about you?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yikes, now he sounded like he was trying to force the relationship. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hope I’m on your mind ;)</span>
  </em>
  <span> ? Morrison had never been ashamed of his own arrogance before, but the last potential text suffered the same fate as the last attempts. Could he send a pun? Did the other man like puns? What about like </span>
  <em>
    <span>a what are you doing this weekend?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh, wait, he should probably include his name somewhere in here, huh? Why was this so hard???</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a loud harumph, Morrison threw his phone to the side, only to stare at the bejeweled casing as though it would magically buzz with a response for the message that remained unsent. The colors seemed to taunt him with the stark reminder that they had only appeared because of his soulmate. His soulmate that he literally could not find a way to text. Someone who was supposed to, you know hopefully-maybe-probably, love him through everything. And here he was, the great Morrison Cox, seducer of men, wealthy bar owner, and party boy of the century stuck on one little text. Was this what it felt like to be normal? It was a terrible, terrible feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait! Idea! Eureka! Whatever! Morrison bolted upright, which only caused pain to rattle his skull, but for the moment, he could ignore it. He snatched his phone off the silk covers, thumbing through the apps quickly until he found what he was looking for: Instagram. If he couldn’t come up with a genius pick-up line meant for seducing his soulmate, then maybe someone else could! </span>
  <b>
    <em>( </em>
  </b>
  <span>And there was no threat of Nasir seeing it, Morrison had thumbed through his 69K followers and checked. There had been no Nasirs in the entire list. </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
  <span> It was perfect, ingenious really, absolutely brilliant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed the selfie stick from his bedside table, then sprawled among his luxurious pillows, shooting the camera a wink. With the picture taken, he quickly added the question feature </span>
  <b>
    <em>(</em>
  </b>
  <span> While I’m laid up in bed, send me your best pick-up lines :kissy-face: </span>
  <b>
    <em>) </em>
  </b>
  <span>and posted it to his story. Now all he had to do was wait. He could do that. He closed out of Instagram.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...only to reopen it seconds later, already refreshing his notifications as he waited with bated breath. And then! Wait! Yes! Here was an answer!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see &lt;3</b>
  <span>: _HotStuffCentral</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morrison’s reply was immediate. </span>
  <b>You’ll have to do better than that babes!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Are you six feet underground? Because I really wish you were dead. Too bad that car had bad aim.</b>
  <span>-Leonora_Sitari</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Leonora, this is a serious matter. </b>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, she replied with the middle finger emoji.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next hour was wasted replying to and rejecting more pick-up lines. There was everything from the classics to the downright terrible to several suggestions of dick pic and the few that didn’t absolutely suck were just not good enough for an initial text to his soul mate. His brilliant idea was turning into a hopeless bust. </span>
  <b>
    <em>(</em>
  </b>
  <span> ...Maybe he should have seen this coming. </span>
  <b>
    <em>)</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he was ready to give up for the evening, bury his phone under several pillows, and yell for Luka to bring him a giant tub of ice cream, his texts pinged with a message.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]:</b>
  <span> It’s lovely to see that you’re finally willing to admit that your pick-up lines need work. What do you need? Spicy? Sexy? Sweet? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]:</b>
  <span> dont b a bitch abt ths</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>smthng nice, ok?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>Has the great Mr. Cox finally found a nice man? The shame of it all! No wonder you’re stuck, darling.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]:</b>
  <span> dorian, do u have a suggestion or not</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>Of course I have a suggestion. But details first. Tell me about your first meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]:</b>
  <span> it was in the hospital, i asked 4 his #</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>Oh, that’s right, I forgot about the car. I think I sent wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]:</b>
  <span> im fine, thx 4 asking</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>Morrison, that’s hardly important right now. What else was memorable about the meeting?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>ur a dick</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>Mmm, yes, but as you know, it’s a very good dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>not that gud</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]:</b>
  <span> Liar, but it’s endearing that you try to tell yourself differently. Now, do you want my help or not?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>finnnnnneeeeeee ok ok</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>he sent me sunflowers and a card with his emergency contact info</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]:</b>
  <span> aka his #</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>Yes, Morrison, not all of us are simpletons.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>r u gonna help me or wut</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>Hello there Sunflower, thank you for passing along your information. I have a bit of an emergency on my hands and it’s that you and I haven’t gone out yet. Plus, I think I owe you some flowers. Let me know when I can return the favor. -Morrison aka the idiot in the hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>I’d ask for your review, but I know it’s 5 stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>ok its p gud</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>needs a ltl wrk</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>The words you’re looking for are thank you, Dorian, for being the height of beauty and wit as always.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>thx</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>ill let u drink 4 free nxt time i see u</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from I’ve Tried This Gray Stuff ]: </b>
  <span>Much better. Good luck, darling, you’ll need it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the last message, Morrison copied and pasted Dorian’s suggestion into a new text. As obnoxious and full of himself as his ex was, the man did know the best way to seduce practically anyone. His couple million Instagram followers were proof of that. And as much as he hated to admit it, Dorian had sent him something that was nearly perfect, it just needed a few small changes here and there…</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[ Text from Me ]: </b>
  <span>Hello there Sunshine, thank you for passing along your information. I have a bit of an emergency on my hands and it’s that you and I haven’t gone out yet. Plus, I think I owe you some flowers. Let me know when I can return the favor. -Morrison aka the sunflower receiver from the hospital</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thumb hovered over the send button, the words staring back at him. His heart was absolutely hammering in his chest. Was 5:43pm a reasonable time to send the text? Should he wait for tomorrow? Maybe this was a bad idea. His fingers moved a little closer to the blue arrow, jumping up and down in anticipation of delivering his all important message. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could do this. It wasn’t that hard. He texted loads of men. This was easy, just like picking up those strangers in the bar. Almost… there… just press the button… Morrison panicked and flung the phone back onto his bed. The message was unsent. Good God, this was going to kill him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“LUKA!” He bellowed. Then suddenly remembering the intercom by his bed, he leaned over and pressed the button. “Luka, I need more of that medication and my dinner. Bring the medication first, I need you to do something else for me before I can eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Mr. Cox,” came the short reply. His lanky butler came into his room a few minutes later and placed a glass of water and the bottle of medication on the table beside him. Then the younger man waited patiently while Morrison floundered for the right way to make his next request.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hand me my phone,” he ordered. When Luka obliged, he unlocked the device and handed it back to the other man, who immediately held up his phone and took a few steps back, as if to take a picture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, not this time.” Morrison sighed. “The drafted message, I need you to send it for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka raised his brows, but didn’t question the request, even when Morrison felt his cheeks go red. God was this humiliating. If it wasn’t for the absolute perfection of Nasir, he wouldn’t have bothered to ask for help at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s sent, Mr.Cox.” Luka relayed and set the device down beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, good. Now, about dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bring it up now, Mr.Cox.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Luka was gone. Morrison scooped up his phone again and reread the message, hoping to see the little dots indicating a response. Nothing. Damn it, time to play the fucking waiting game. And he really, really didn’t have the patience for it. He read the message two more times, realizing suddenly that his phone had decided to correct Sunflower to Sunshine for absolutely no coherent reason. He typed out the correction, ready to make the change, then deleted it. Sunshine. Yeah, okay, it was kind of a cute nickname for how warm Nasir had made him feel. Maybe it would even stick.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all so much for reading! This fic has gotten a surprising amount of traction, and I'm really excited that so many people are enjoying it! If you're looking for more Morrison/Nasir content, they have a couple of other small chapters in Sing Me A Song, which is not done posting, but I have finished writing it. The chapters there are more like fun sketches, but if you're looking to read more of them during these crazy slow updates, then that's where you can find them.</p><p>Anyway, thank you again for reading!!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to everyone for reading! If you like this concept, I'll be working on some other fics in the series and switching back and forth between this one and the others.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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